Bittersweet
by Th.Morri
Summary: This prose gallery contains both "Bittersweet" along with "The Tear Stained Keys" and will be updated with future works.


~Bittersweet~

The wrinkled face of the moon looked down upon the much bloodied Southern battlefield and wept its tears upon the Union bodies that coated the ground. A young woman looked upon the field from the door of a farm, victory belonged to South Carolina but the sight was...

Bittersweet.

Another young woman roamed the battlefield, daring to brave the bodies and disease for a chance at food. She leaned down and picked up a bloodied strawberry from a patch that had survived the battle. She plucked it into her mouth ravenously. The taste was...

Bittersweet.

Finally, a stir among the pile of dead as a head moved. The half dead solider lifted his hand as far as he could, despite the bullet in his stomach and shoulder. His hand wrapped gently around a violet in full bloom. He struggled over to it and smelled the flower's sweet scent, enhanced by the rain, mixed with the scent of his own blood. His final words as he felt that sensation in his nose and died right afterwards were...

"Bittersweet."

~The Sick Rain~

The wind blew gently across the rich green grass and beautiful, healthy hay fields. The clouds moved slowly, calmly, but heaved with their load. The puffy white clouds swelled and drifted, then let go of their burden in a continuous, waving, pulsing rain shower. The hay stirred and the grass hungrily absorbed the rain into their large, shallow, and voluminous root system.

A sick old man, sitting on the deck of a cabin, looked into the sky serenely, and then moved with limbs creaking, to his feet. He rose and walked into the fields of hay and grass. He moved past them, unaware of their beauty, and the hay bowed its head in disgrace for not being noticed by its master. The man walked to edge of a nearby forest and the hay cried in agony as he leaned down to observe something else.

The sick man leaned his head back as he picked up a single, weak and withered rose. The rose was cool and damp in his fevered grasp and he smiled as it relieved him. He put his nose close to it and smelled its fresh scent. Then, as he was smiling in relief, he closed his eyes and lost his strength. He fell forward as his life was carried away by the rain, wind, and sickness. And the rose was crushed in his grasp. Two lives were lost that day, carried away by the sick rain.

~The Tear Stained Keys~

A young girl, about the age of 17, sat alone in the spacious mansion. Outside a steady beat could be heard as the dark clouds overhead unleashed a hail of rain upon the landscape. The mansion was beautiful, a rich white color with a dark roof and golden trim in more than one area. The landscape was in complete and sharp contrast though. The dead grass seemed to overrun any signs of life and not a sign of beauty was seen among the dead life. A long winding driveway led to the only road in the area and the beautiful woods were devoid of settlement.

The girl's hands moved over the piano's keys as a soft wind blew through the open window. The tune was upbeat and cheerful, the kind you hear in the opening to a TV show. Anyone listening would expect that the player was as happy as the tune she was playing, but they would be sorely mistaken. She was trying to drown her sorrow in happiness but soon gave up as the tune came to an end.

She stood and shivered, from the cold wind or from her feelings, no one who looked on would know. She thought herself alone but she turned as she heard a soft tap on the wall. Standing in the doorway, looking at her with pitiful eyes, stood him. She walked backwards away from him as he glided forward, tears falling hot across her face at the sight of him. He scooped her up in his arms and smiled sadly at her. "Let us move on," he whispered. She continued to cry in his arms and then, with a resolute nod, the two vanished into the air.

5 years later, the mansion has been turned into a hotel. The front yard is now fixed and the trees of the forest have been cut down and turned into a fertile field. The road has been repaved and the current owner is rich as business booms. The hotel is plagued by just one thing though. Those who enter the parlor at 9:21 pm say they feel a faint wind that gives them chill and if they near the piano, they just might find tears on the keys.


End file.
